


Beautiful Breakdown

by orphan_account



Series: Between two souls [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is beauty in submission, but only when one is mastered beautifully. Yumichika knows this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> zanpakutou/shinigami sex. If this squicks you, this fic is a no go. Fair warning.  
> D/S overtones. Nothing really graphic though.

There is beauty in submission, but only when one is mastered beautifully. 

Yumichika knows this. Has made a lifetimes study of it, and has never found anyone worth bowing to. Though many have tried and ultimately failed to live up to his exacting specifications. By the time of the zanpakuto rebellion the fifth seat has almost given up hope of ever finding anyone who will. It’s been such a long time after all.

When he first sees the released form of his zanpakuto he knows as surely as he knows the sun will rise and fall once more into darkness that _Ruri’Iro Kujaku_ is the only thing equal to his beauty. They clash predictably, but it is friction born of a passion that burns bright within them both. A passion for perfection, for beauty, for _more_ than what life offers freely. 

It is then that he knows. Knows it will be him, his own sword, his own soul that does it, that finally masters him. It is perfect really. He has often been compared to narcissus.

When his zanpakuto comes to his bed, featherless from the torso down, Yumichika isn’t surprised, but is impressed by his daring. 

Yumichika relaxes back against his sheets, hair spilling around him in a practiced seduction, exposing the long column of his neck. Kujaku stands at the edge of his master’s bed and stares down at him. His eyes are heated and fixed on the yakuta that has fallen off of one pale shoulder, tied loosely at the waste so it gapes, hiding little beneath it’s soft floral folds. Yumichika wears no adornments, no enhancements. They are both featherless tonight. 

Kujaku is on the bed in a second.

He holds Yumichika’s wrists in a firm grip above his head and hisses into his ear that he’s going to make him pay for that awful, ugly, nickname he insists on calling him. That he’s going to punish him for being ashamed of his own soul. There’s an undercurrent of genuine hurt there that he’ll have to address later, but not now. _God_ , not now. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s craved for so long.

Kujaku touches him like he knows. Knows how long he’s waited, how many nights Yumichika’s been broken down and built himself back up again the next morning, bitterly disappointed and left wanting. Wanting something beautiful. 

His zanpakuto’s hands are firm and confident on his body, like he knows it already. They sweep masterfully over all the places that make Yumichika squirm and writhe with want. Kujaku goes slowly, thoroughly, and leaves no room for doubt over who is in charge. Yumichika may be his wielder, but in this place Kujaku is the master.

Yumichika throws his head back and moans as dry fingers play with his rim. Tangled in the folds of his open robe, he can barely move. His hands are tied to the headboard with his own obi and his legs are spread lewdly, baring all to his zanpakuto’s gaze and wandering hands. He feels dishevelled. He feels beautiful.

It is everything he has ever wanted.

Kujaku looms over him, eyes dark and heated, lips reddened, hands restraining. When they finally come together it is beautiful. So beautiful that through the haze of his vision Yumichika can barely process it. Kujaku thrusts steadily into his body and Yumichika feels hollowed out. As if his zanpakuto has settled into his body and carved out a place for himself in his skin. He’s lost in a sea of sensation and he can’t keep his head above water. He has never been drowned so beautifully. He thrashes blindly and bows into the intrusion, searching blindly for some kind of constant to help anchor him to the present. 

A hand runs along his flanks, soothing, mastering, and then moves to grip his hands where they’re tied up against the headboard. Yumichika relaxes instantly into the motions of their bodies, submits to the sensations that have become his whole universe.

It is perfect. It is everything.

It is beautiful.


End file.
